


Cherry Popsicles

by theomnisquid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gay Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non Consensual, Sex, Sex Pollen, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theomnisquid/pseuds/theomnisquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The popsicle leaves icy red trails of chilled skin as it slowly melts on his skin.. With his free hand, he reaches out to the other man, concern dancing over his features. But Derek flinches back, pressing himself even harder against the wall. Stiles drops his hand back down, the popsicle still melting slowly in his other hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Popsicles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mzpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mzpineapple/gifts).



> So back in like July, I had asked on my tumblr for some prompts. My sister gave me a Sterek prompt with Ice Cream as the focus. Popsicles are kinda like ice cream right? Close enough? 
> 
> Maybe possibly thinking of writing another chapter or two. Maybe just leaving it as is...dunno.

Stiles stops in his doorway, his red stained lips puckered around a cherry popsicle. He pulls the ice treat out of his mouth with a pop and glares at the offending figure in the corner of his room.

“What do you want now, Derek?” he hisses at the Sour Wolf. Of course Derek doesn’t answer because why would he ever make anything easy for Stiles? The teen sighs and steps into his room, closing the door behind him. With his dad away on a call, it was a detail he could have probably overlooked. But then again, his dad was a lot like the werewolves - suddenly appearing out of nowhere- and Stiles didn’t want to have to explain to his dad as to why Derek Hale was just standing in the corner of his room looking like he wanted to eat the sheriff’s son.

He lifts his hand up to his face and his tongue, also stained red darts out and licks at a bit of red liquid that has dripped on the knuckle of his thumb. He swears he hears a strangled sound from Derek. His head snaps up and his eyes go wide because dammit, Derek is scary. And normally Derek is all growly and teeth and in his face, slamming him against walls. In general just making Stiles want to pee his pants. So Derek standing in the corner quietly with the exception of the occasional strangled whimper is even more frightening.

Stiles looks at the young Alpha and realizes the man is pale; like really pale. He steps towards the werewolf and is surprised when the older man whimpers slightly and presses himself back against the wall. His lips curling up into a slight snarl. Stiles shrinks back slightly. Derek reminds him of a trapped animal. The kind that lashes out in violence. Violence that ends with Stiles face chewed off.And while it is kinda goofy looking and doesn’t get him dates, he does still like his face where it belongs  
He notices then that Derek is dripping with sweat. Beads of the salty moisture rolling down the side of his face; his forehead shimmering with it. Against his better judgement, Stiles steps towards Derek. He ignores the noise Derek makes, which is some sort of mix between a growl and a whine. The popsicle leaves icy red trails of chilled skin as it slowly melts on his skin. With his free hand, he reaches out to the other man, concern dancing over his features. But Derek flinches back, pressing himself even harder against the wall. Stiles drops his hand back down, the popsicle still melting slowly in his other hand.

“Listen, Derek.” He sighs frustrated, "I can’t help you if I have no idea what is wrong.” Derek shoots Stiles a pained look.The teen nods and steps back a pace or two from the alpha. With Stiles further away,the man visibly relaxes. He closes his eyes and Stiles can see his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“In the woods,” Derek’s voice is strained, almost as if he is having trouble speaking. “There was this plant.” Stiles quirks an eyebrow at the werewolf because really there are tons of plants in the woods. It being the woods and all. Derek swallows hard and opens his eyes, fixing them on Stiles’ lips. The hyper-active teen shifts, suddenly uncomfortable.

“It..uh..it..I got its pollen all over me.” He mumbles the last part as if he is afraid to admit to Stiles that he was careless. Stiles stares at him for a moment. Then without a thought, he is by Derek. His free hand splayed against his bicep. His other hand still holding the popsicle that had long since melted. He opens his mouth to throw questions at the sour wolf. What kind of plant was it? Is he feeling sick? Was it wolfsbane? Has he been poisoned?

But no words have time to roll off his tongue and move past his lips before he is on his bed. Back pressing into his comforter. Derek’s lips chapped and tinged with the metalic taste of blood press against his. Stiles gasps around the kiss. The popsicle stick falling graceless to the floor. The slight opening of the teen’s mouth seems to be the only permission Derek needs. His tongue fills Stiles’ mouth. Exploring and mapping every inch of it. Stiles struggles against the older man, hands reaching up to push at his shoulders. Derek growls at him and moves from the teen’s mouth, teeth nipping lightly at his jaw line. Working his way down the teen’s vunerable throat. Stiles moans, partially from the pain as Derek’s teeth bite down hard. Almost enough to break the skin.

“Derek, please” Stiles pants out. Not sure if he is begging the other man to stop or to continue. Images of Lydia flash through his mind - Her perfect strawberry blonde hair. Her pouty lips - as a fire spreads through his body. His hands cease pushing at Derek’s shoulder and instead have turned traitorous. Nails digging into Derek’s shoulders, gripping them as if afraid to fall. His hips also betray him, canting up to press into the man above him.  
He tells himself his actions are not his own. That all of his body’s betrayals are from being a desperately horny teenager.. He reminds himself that he loves Lydia. He loves how smart she is. How she is as fierce as a tiger. And as beautiful as one too. He should stop whatever is happening right now between him and Derek. He hates Derek! Hates his stupid chiseled abs of godly perfection. Hates how the man smells like sweat and blood and earth. Hates how he spends more and more time thinking of Derek and less time thinking of Lydia at night when he has Stiles’ time.

But his body knows what a liar, he truly is. And if his body were butter, it would melt under the hot touch of Derek’s hands as they caress and paw and stroke every inch of him. It burns as the rough callous skin of Derek’s hands turn into the hot wet slide of his tongue. Licking slowly up the arm that held the popsicle, tasting the sticky red cherry residue on Stiles’ wrist. His mouth slides slowly down one of Stiles’ long fingers, sucking gently on it before pulling it out with loud pop and doing the same to the next digit and then the next.

Stiles’ mind reels and he feels like he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to stop, but he wants his body to stop betraying him. His hands move from Derek’s shoulders to dance lightly, hesitantly over the waist of Derek’s jeans. Derek grunts around one of his fingers. Rolling his hips down and forward. Grinding himself into Stiles. A moan bubbles from deep within Stiles’ throat. His fingers desperately searching for the button and zipper on the other’s jeans. Derek’s lips- no- teeth are back at the crook of his neck. Nipping and scraping over his skin. The stubble on Derek’s chin rough against Stiles’ neck.

Clumsily, Stiles slides the zipper down. His mind still arguing with his body to stop but his body refuses to listen. His hand now working slowly on stroking down the shaft of Derek’s erect penis. His own erection straining through his pants. Derek moans into Stiles’ neck. Hips pressing into the younger man. Stiles’ quickens his pace on Derek, and dragging at times on the stickiness from the popsicle that wasn’t licked away by Derek earlier.It burns white hot behind his eyes as Derek ruts harder into his hand. The fabric of his own trousers uncomfortable against his own hard manhood. Derek’s hands claw frantically for purchase on the bed and make no moves to return the favour to Stiles’ Stiles whimpers as he arches up. His crotch pressing against the back of his fist as it continues to work over Derek.

And then Derek is coming, releasing himself between Stiles and his own body. He lets out a low huff and collapses briefly on top of Stiles. Then he is up, wiping his hands on Stiles’ bedspread. Zipping up his jeans and out the window before Stiles’ can even get two unsteady breathes in. Stiles is left on the bed, dick still hard, with drops of melted cherry popsicle dotting his carpet. And he has no idea what happened or why it happened.


End file.
